Bus Buddies
by tii-chan17
Summary: Matt's a bus regular on the Number 72. Nothing. Changes. But then one day, Matt meets the only person brave (brazen?) enough to talk to a stranger on an English bus. M/M. Rated for language.


**A/N: Yo hi. So, new M/M oneshot...YAYY! This idea's been a bee in my bonnet since, like, forever (Tuesday), and I just thought I may as well type it out.  
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**I've been mildly obssessed with M/M since I started planning out my current multi-chapter fic, Celestial, and I guess this is one of the results. You could read Celestial too, if you want...make me happy? (I don't care if self-advertising's not right. I'm doing it. My A/N.) Also, been getting the bus for the last three weeks because of inconvenient circumstances, and felt the need to get the...feeling of it into a fic. I dunno. The bus feels...uh... *is bad at all the airy-fairy feelings talk* Yeah, I have no clue. It feels like Britain, okay? That's the best I can do. Most of my fics are set in Britain, because I live there and understand it well, but I think this is my most English so far. It just...is. Other Brits agree with me, please, otherwise I'll look like an idiot!**

**Anyway, I'll stop talking now. Please enjoy and review! Love from me.**

* * *

Bus Buddies

Since about a year and a half ago, I've had to take the bus to and from work. Reason: crashed my car and couldn't afford a new one. I still mourn her sometimes.

Anyway, the bus. Number 72. Like most British buses: brightly coloured, mildly grimy, noisy, smelly, slow and possessing of an enormous turning circle. It not as bad as it sounds. Well, not once you get used to it.

I get the Number 72 every day apart from Wednesday and Sunday (days off) at five thirty, give or take a few minutes (though it's usually give and a lot more than a few minutes, too). Off-peak time, hence it isn't very crowded, hence I know all the regulars, hence they probably all know me too.

There's the old guy with the tweed cap and leather jacket who always sits in the third row from the front, sucking mint imperials. Every day.

There's the lanky chav in the dirty grey hoodie who slouches at the back with his feet up on the seat in front of him with his headphones in. I can hear the wannabe Dubstep music through them. Every day.

There's the Indian man who reeks of BO and gets on at the stop after Tesco. Every day.

There's the Lady with permed blonde hair that never seems to move, who looks as though her face has been pinned back with a clothes peg. Every day.

Of course, other people sometimes get on too, and there's usually a couple of strangers sitting quietly in the middle seats, but that lot are the regulars.

_Nothing. Changes._

Me, I always sit at the front, in the wheelchair/pushchair/priority seating area. I'd like to pretend it's so I can get on and off extra fast to escape my gangster hitmen stalkers (haha), but it's actually because I gets carsick any further back. It's not like it really matters, anyway; I never have to give up my seat. Well, apart from Thursdays.

Thursdays are hardcore. Every week, three stops after I get on, the bingo club invades the Number 72. How many old people play bingo, anyway? The bus is _crammed_. Like, ridiculously crammed. And I get glared at for no reason by little old ladies who probably resent me for having a wrinkle-free face. So yeah, I have to stand for the rest of the trip. I always make sure to sit down as much as possible during work on Thursdays.

Normally, I get off thirty minutes after I get on, forty on Thursdays. Or sometimes forty-five, when it's that irritating driver who never has any change and drives at thirty miles an hour for the whole trip.

_Nothing. Changes._

At least, nothing _did_ change. Until Mello came along.

Obviously, I didn't know he was Mello then, he was just the blond guy who looked like a chick in skinny jeans and black t-shirt.

It was a Tuesday, I think, and I remember being slightly confused when the bus pulled over at the stop next to mine, because nobody ever gets on at that stop. It's barely even a stop, actually; just a small post by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

Anyhow, my reaction to Mello was one of mild interest. He was new, my age (approximately), and quite attractive. Well, as attractive as one can be standing still, asking for a single to town. If you're asking, yes, I'm bi.

So, after Mello finished buying his ticket, he plonked himself down next to me and said, "Hi, I'm Mello."

My reaction to _that_ was one of pure astonishment. My emoticon face would have looked something like this: O_O

Reason? No one ever talks to strangers on buses. Ever.

Thankfully, I eventually got over my shock and replied with, "Uh...I'm Matt...?"

Mello then astounded me again by saying, "You're dress sense's weird."

Before I could answer with more than an "Um?", he went on.

"You reek of cigarettes. Why do you wear those goggles? Your hair's the best colour ever. Is it natural?"

Predictably, at this point I got pissed. "Are you autistic?!"

"No, no I'm not," Mello informed me cheerily, "I just enjoy freaking people out."

"Well then, congratulations."

"Thank you! Have you got lung cancer yet?"

It went on like this for a good few stops, until Mello alighted on the edge of the town centre. "See you, Matt," he said.

He got on again the next day, same time, same place.

And the next.

And the next.

Eventually, Mello was a normal part of my schedule. He'd get on at five thirty-five every night and get off three stops before me, after twenty minutes of talking about random shit with me. He was getting the bus because he was doing work at his mate's charity shop to pay him back for some favour a while back, Mello told me. His friend was a douchebag, Mello told me.

We talked about everything: politics, TV programmes, the meaning of life...

I began to like Mello more and more.

* * *

And then it was Hardcore Thursday. Not Mello's first. I think it was more like Mello's fifth. But anyway. The bingo club was joined by a lady with a pram that day. Fuck.

Evidently, the bus was already crowded enough, what with screaming toddlers and exhausted mums and grumbling old men and scowling old ladies and wannabe Dubstep music leaking through headphones.

And then, the stop afterwards, a bunch of squealing teenagers got on. Going home from the shops, I figure. I am quite relieved I'm not female; these ones only seemed capable of spending money and making noise.

So, long story short, the bus was packed. No exaggeration. People were standing everywhere; the baby was crying even harder because the girls were making noises too loud for anyone to bear, let alone a two-year-old; the mum was trying to get her kid to shut up because she couldn't ask the girls to do it instead because you just _can't_ on a bus in England; the old men were grumbling even louder and the old ladies were frowning hard enough to permanently scar their faces. Me and Mello were at the front, as usual, standing opposite the pushchair bay, clinging onto the overhead rail for dear, sweet life and trying desperately not to trip over the little elderly lady with gout.

And then the fucking inconsiderate bus driver decided to brake particularly hard at a roundabout, sending Mello careering into me and knocking us both back into the window.

The bar with the stop button on it was digging into the small of my back.

I tried to straighten up, because though having a drop-dead gorgeous, sexy blond draped all over you sounds like fun for most people, when said drop-dead gorgeous blond is _Mello_, it's just not okay.

But then Mello slipped his hands into the back pockets of my jeans (holyfucking_hell_) and murmured, "Actually, I think we're sturdier like this," his breath caressing my ear and turning me on like nothing had before ever.

I wisely decided to say nothing, tried to wrestle my raging blush back under control, gripped Mello's arms firmly and looked nervously at the lady with gout. She either hadn't noticed, or wasn't saying anything.

That may or may not have been the best evening of my life.

* * *

And then, predictably, because all good things have to come to an end because Fate's a bitch, it all came to an end.

Suddenly, with no warning, Mello didn't board the bus one day.

Or the day after.

Or the day after that.

Or the week after that.

And then my life was back to normal, except there was a massive great hole in my chest where there hadn't been before.

* * *

_/Two months later/_

Matt stepped off the bus with a sigh. It had been a hard day at work, as Mondays always were, and he was exhausted.

Then he looked up and froze.

Mello was standing there, waiting for him. He hadn't changed at all, which Matt supposed wasn't really that surprising because it had only been a couple of months and if he was being honest with himself, Matt probably hadn't changed that much either.

Nevertheless, Matt was mildly stupefied.

"Hi," Mello said, his voice quite a lot quieter than Matt remembered.

Matt said nothing, still not completely sure whether he was still on the bus, dreaming.

"Um...been a while, huh? I finished work at my friend's place," Mello told him.

Matt harumphed. "Could've warned me," he muttered grumpily.

Mello's lips quirked into a teasing smile. "Aw, Matty, you missed me?"

"...hmph."

Mello's face softened, and he took a step forward. "I'm sorry, Matt. Didn't think it'd be that much of a big deal, not seeing you anymore, but...yeah. Well hey, a guy's allowed to be wrong once in a while, right?" he joked.

Matt kept the irritated expression on his face, though inside his heart was beating a mile a minute. "Uh huh, I'm sure," he retorted scathingly. "How'd you know which stop was mine, anyway? You always got off before me."

Mello shrugged. "Got on the bus and asked the old guy who always eats mints," he told Matt simply.

Matt sniggered. "He must have been surprised to be talked to."

"He was," Melllo chuckled, shaking his head at the memory. He always had enjoyed putting people out of their comfort zone.

Matt shuffled his feet awkwardly. "So...what now?" he asked after a brief silence.

Mello bit his lip and looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable. Karma had been sure to catch up with him sometime. "Well, I..." – he hesitated – "I dunno. I guess I was hoping you'd invite me round yours..." he trailed off, a sweet blush dusting his cheeks.

Matt raised his eyebrow. "Mello, I met you on a _bus_," he told the blond. "I know next to nothing about you."

Mello's blush deepened, and Matt could hardly comprehend how completely utterly ridiculously gorgeous he was.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Mello sighed. "It was dumb, I'm sorry, I -"

Matt rolled his eyes. "Don't be thick, Mels. Of course you can come round. Even if that's probably retarded of me. It's a mess there, though. Wasn't exactly expecting guests," he pointed out.

They stood there for a few more moments, until Matt decided to turn around and head home, hearing Mello's boots clumping along after him on the pavement.

Matt tried to regulate his heartbeat.

They walked in a silence which got steadily more awkward as time went by. Eventually, Matt decided breaking it would be less painful than enduring it any longer. "So anyway...how've you been?"

"Good. You?"

"Good."

"Hm."

They reached Matt's front door. The redhead fished for the key in his back pocket. He found it. He inserted it into the lock. He turned it. He opened the door.

He gave up.

"Okay, Mello, why did you wait for me today? You haven't seen me for two months and you didn't even bother to tell me you weren't coming anymore. The _fuck's_ up with that?!"

Mello looked mildly ashamed. "I'm sorry, Matt. Really. I just thought you wouldn't care. Hell, I thought _I_ wouldn't care. But yeah: I was wrong. So sue me," he finished petulantly.

"But _why_ do you care?!" Matt cried in exasperation. "Why'd you care enough to worry about whether _I'd_ care?!"

A pause.

Mello opened his mouth, then shut it. Then opened it again. "I – I just...ah, _fuck_! I can't do this!"

"Do what?!"

"_This_, all of it!"

"_All of what_?!"

Mello lunged for him, sealing their lips together and knocking Matt back through the doorway, letting the door swing shut behind them. He kissed Matt feverishly, biting his bottom lip until Matt granted him entrance and then swiftly entwining their tongues. They grappled with each other for an immeasurable amount of time, gasping and sighing, biting and swallowing.

Finally, Mello pulled back, lips red and swollen, cheeks aflame. He looked almost horrified.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice trembling. "You probably think I'm a freaky stalker now, right?"

Matt didn't reply; he was still catching his breath.

Something broke behind Mello's eyes. "Look, I just – you just _clicked_, you know? You get me better than anyone else, and we've only known each other for what – four months? I...you were the best part of my day. Wednesdays were hell, when you weren't there. I just sat there by myself, waiting impatiently for the next evening when we could just talk and laugh and all. And I thought...well, on that Thursday, when it was even more insane than usual and we fell, and – well. I just assumed you were...you know. Like me."

"Gay?" Matt offered, finally managing to get enough oxygen into his lungs to form a word.

"...yeah." Mello looked pained. "And okay, I get it, I was wrong, and I've probably fucked everything up and scarred you for life, and -"

Matt interrupted. "Mello, are you retarded?"

"...what?"

"I let you feel up my butt for fifteen whole minutes, Mello. You really think a straight guy'd do that?"

Mello was silent, looking nervous.

Matt took his cue to continue. "I was attracted to you, yeah. You jumbled up my entire life, for God's sake! I had something to look forward to, I – you were the best part of my day as well, and I...well, I – uh...oh, _fuck it_!"

He grabbed Mello again, claiming his lips in a hungry kiss.

Mello took a couple of seconds to respond, but once he did, he was insatiable. Matt was sure he would explode if Mello tugged his hair any harder.

Mello broke away for a moment, still running his hands through Matt's hair as if he'd never experienced human contact before. "Bedroom?" he whispered huskily.

"Yeah."

"Bus tomorrow?"

"See you then."

"I'll probably be getting on with you tomorrow morning, though."

"Mello?"

"Hm?"

"Shut up."

"Nn..."

_Finis._

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**A/N: So yeah. That was random. I'm not completely happy with it, because I'm never completely happy with oneshots because I don't know why but I'm pretty proud of it. It is based on my own bus experiences, in case you were wondering. Hardcore Thursday and all. XD**

**Thanks for reading and see you next time! (In Celestial?) :P**

**~tii-chan17**


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